


Shaking the Foundation

by Lillyjk



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Femslash, Background Melinda/Pepper, Bottom Phil Coulson, Face-Fucking, First Meetings, Hand & Finger Kink, I had to write something about those gloves, M/M, Power Dynamics, Top Clint Barton, architect melinda may, architect phil coulson, john garrett is a bag of dicks, shy phil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-02 18:37:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4070374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillyjk/pseuds/Lillyjk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The mouth curved into a smile and Phil realized he'd been caught staring. He shot a glance upward  relieved to see amusement instead of anger in the man's eyes. They were beautiful, a mix of blue and green with little crinkles at the corner that indicated he was somewhere north of thirty. He arched an eyebrow at Phil and said, “See something you like?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fast and Reckless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mouth curved into a smile and Phil realized he'd been caught staring. He shot a glance upward to see relieved to see amusement instead of anger in the man's eyes. They were beautiful, a mix of blue and green with little crinkles at the corner that indicated he was somewhere north of thirty. He arched an eyebrow at Phil and said, “See something you like?”   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this can be read as a one shot even though it has an open ending and leaves some questions unanswered. I have a rough outline of two more chapters the will get written at some point. So be forewarned going in that this little bit of porny fluff does have an underlying plot. Thanks to adamantsteve for the quick and dirty beta.

*********

Phil straightened his tie and fiddled with his glasses as he waited for the elevator to arrive. The building lobby was deserted except for the security guard who'd signed him in for his after business hours appointment.

  
  


He shifted his weight and tucked his portfolio under his arm, grateful Melinda had insisted on having the design models messengered over earlier instead of Phil struggling to carry them.

  
  


He had no idea why he was so nervous about this particular meeting.

  
  


Scratch that, he knew exactly why he was so nervous about this meeting.

  
  


Coulson & May Architecture, also known as C&M, was walking the thin line between hitting the big time and going bust. Both Phil and Melinda had taken massive pay cuts and all but wiped out their individual savings when they left the big architecture firm to strike out on their own. It had been a huge risk, leaving the security of their boring yet profitable jobs, but years of designing the same old commercial buildings with absolutely no innovation had been slowly killing them both.

  
  


They'd known each other since they both landed college internships at their old firm back in the day, and Phil couldn't think of another person he'd be willing to partner up with. What began as an entertaining fantasy of “if we had our own firm, we could do ____” after another day of endless drudgery had slowly evolved into a plan of action.

  
  


Now they just needed the risk to pay off so they didn't end up closing up shop and groveling for their old jobs back.

  
  


Phil needed to land the Stark account.

  
  


Phil hadn't even wanted to bid on the Stark job at first. It seemed like such a huge gamble and C&M would have to front the money for the plans and models with no guarantee that Stark would choose their designs. Phil had wanted to stick to bidding on smaller jobs, at least until they were better established. They were already getting good buzz within the competitive New York architecture community and one of their designs had been featured in a magazine spread. Things had been looking up but then they'd had two clients drop them within the last few weeks thanks to that bastard Garrett's poaching.

  
  


Garrett Designs was another small architecture firm, helmed by John Garrett, the guy who pretty much epitomized Phil's bad dating decisions. Phil had bought into Garrett's charming “aw, shucks” act long enough to go out on a couple of mediocre dates several months ago. He'd broken things off when Garrett's true personality made itself known and Garrett had been pretty vocal in his accusations about Phil being a cocktease. When word got around that Phil and Melinda were striking out on their own, Garrett had made it his mission to make them fail.

  
  


Phil had gotten the message loud and clear; nobody turned Garrett down.

  
  


The elevator dinged its arrival and Phil stepped inside. He punched the button for the top floor and then stepped back, relieved to have the small space to himself. A glance at his watch assured him that he still had thirty minutes to spare before his 8:00 pm presentation. It had seemed odd that the appointment was scheduled for so late but Ms. Potts had coolly informed him that Mr. Stark rarely did anything as expected when Phil had received the call setting the meeting.

  
  


Hell, he and Melinda had both been over the moon that Stark was even considering C&M based on the preliminary sketches they'd submitted.

  
  


Phil glanced up briefly when the elevator stopped on another floor, surprised anyone else was still in the building other than Stark, his assistant, and the front desk guy. He waited a beat, looking out the open doors into what looked to be an empty hallway. Letting out a little discontented sigh, he jabbed the door close button with a little more force than necessary.

  
  


He was just turning his attention back to his portfolio when a hand partially encased in a fingerless black leather glove shot through the closing doors, halting their progress.

  
  


His eyes widened slightly when the man the hand belonged to stepped inside. 

  
  


He was dressed in dark jeans, a beat up black leather jacket and a ragged but tight gray tshirt. He was carrying a sleek purple and black motorcycle helmet tucked under one arm, and yeah, that explained the gloves Phil supposed. The guy was maybe an inch taller than Phil, compact but broad through the shoulders and chest. He had a fighter's face, unrefined but roughly appealing with a nose that had been broken more than once and a bottom lip that looked a shade too full for a man. Phil looked at that bottom lip for a long moment, letting himself imagine how soft it would feel pressed against him, how it would feel caught between his teeth in a playful kiss.

  
  


The mouth curved into a smile and Phil realized he'd been caught staring. He shot a glance upward relieved to see amusement instead of anger in the man's eyes. They were beautiful, a mix of blue and green with little crinkles at the corner that indicated he was somewhere north of thirty. He arched an eyebrow at Phil and said, “See something you like?”

  
  


Phil felt his cheeks flush and dropped his head.  _ Good job, Phil, way to mortify yourself.  _ "Sorry,” he managed to mutter. Still, he couldn't help watching the precise way the man's blunt pointer finger hovered over the elevator buttons without actually pressing anything. His hands, at least what parts Phil could see, were absurdly attractive. They were a strange mix of knobby knuckles and long fingers that looked like they could be brutal or tender by turns.

  
  


"Going all the way up, huh? You know the express elevator would have gotten you there a lot faster. This one moves pretty slow even when there's not a lot of stopping to let people on or off.”

  
  


Phil shot another glance at his watch. Twenty-seven minutes before his meeting. He shrugged, still not daring to meet those knowing eyes again. “I had some time to kill before a meeting. Figured I'd go for slow and steady.”

  
  


The guy stepped a little closer, turning so his body was angled toward where Phil stood in the corner. “Yeah, you look like a slow and steady guy. I can appreciate that.” His voice was low and a little rough. The hand that had been lingering over the elevator buttons dropped down to rest on the metal rail that ran along the inside of the elevator at waist level.

  
  


Phil was mesmerized by it, the way the tanned skin of the man's fingers contrasted against the black leather glove and the shiny metal. There was a callus on the end of his index finger, the skin there thickened and rough. Phil had a similar callus from where he pressed too hard on his drafting pencil, but somehow he thought the man's callus came from something a little more exciting. Did he work with those hands for a living? Was the callus from swinging a hammer on a construction site? Phil wondered what that finger would feel like trailing along the length of his cock. Would it snag on the delicate skin there or would the little bit of roughness feel good?

  
  


"I bet you do slow and steady real good.” The hand on the rail slid closer, “Probably lay back and just let yourself drift away once you hit the right rhythm.” A leather clad shoulder bumped against Phil as he made another step into his space. His other hand came up to flick along the visitor tag the security guard had insisted Phil clip to his lapel, holding it still so that Phil's grainy picture from the tag machine and name were readily visible. “But sometimes fast and reckless can be good, too. Right, Phil?”

  
  


Phil's breath caught in his throat. Was this happening?  Things like this didn't happen to people like him. He pressed his back into the corner suddenly aware that his dick had gone hard, straining against the front of his pants. He tore his gaze away from the ever closer hand on the rail and looked up to find the man's face close enough that he could feel his breath against his neck. He could smell him, the hint of faded aftershave and sweat and leather.

  
  


Phil licked his lips, his mouth gone dry. “I don't think,” he started to say but went quiet when the hand from the rail dropped down to palm his dick, fingers squeezing him just a shade shy of painful through the thin suit pants.

  
  


The man made a tsking sound, his lips pushing out into a little pout.   _ Juicy bottom lip, like a girl's, _ Phil thought. “Nah, if anything, you think too much. Probably analyze the pros and cons of everything.” He leaned in too close, putting his mouth right up to Phil's ear. 

  
  


The motorcycle helmet dropped to the floor of the elevator with a dull thud. “Sometimes you just have to seize the opportunity when you see something you like.” His other hand slid down Phil's chest, flicking open the buttons of his suit coat and then going to work on his belt.  

  
  


Good lord, what the fuck was he doing? Phil didn't know this guy. He didn't even know his name. He should push him away. He should…  _ seize the opportunity. _

  
  


Phil tossed his portfolio to the side, both hands coming up to tug the beat up leather jacket open. He couldn't push it off because the other man's hands were busily working Phil's suit pants open, the sound of the zipper loud and obscene in the confined space. Phil groaned in frustration and reached for the ragged tshirt instead, pushing it up until he could get his hands on his exposed belly and chest, all golden skin with just a dusting of dark blond hair stretched over muscle.

  
  


“That's it.” He whispered into Phil's ear, his tongue flicking out to trace the sharp line of his jaw. “Take what you want.” His hands were on Phil's hips, pushing his suit pants and boxers down just far enough that he could wrap one hand around Phil's aching dick.

  
  


“Fuck!” Phil shuddered, the twin sensations of hot fingers and worn leather around his cock making him buck forward for more. Another hand slid around to Phil's ass, large hand palming one cheek and pressing him closer until Phil was grinding against the hand at the base of his dick.

  
  


Phil couldn't focus on anything, his senses blown wide between those rough hands on him and his own hands moving restlessly over that sculpted chest.  Phil scraped a finger across a nipple, pushing his thumb nail into the little nub until he was rewarded with a throaty little chuckle where that pretty mouth pressed against the skin of Phil's throat. “Oh, he has claws. I like it.”

  
  


The hand on his dick tightened down, sliding back and forth along Phil's shaft in the pain/pleasure way that made him want to pull away and press in for more at the same time. He felt one large rawboned finger press against his hole, just the barest tease of pressure. The leather of the gloves where they covered the man's palms felt like it was burning into him, somehow hotter than skin to skin where it pressed against him.

  
  


Phil could feel the razor sharp edge of his orgasm building, rushing forward with each stroke and slide and press until he was teetering on the precipice. His eyes squeezed shut, the only sounds their combined breathing and the slap-slide of skin and leather. The harsh command of, “Come!” made it all burst loose, Phil's come striping the stranger's hand in that goddamned fingerless glove as he continued to stroke Phil until every drop was wrung out of him.

  
  


He wasn't even aware that his hands had slid down to the other man's waist until another low laugh made the skin under his fingers move. Phil forced his eyes open, only to turn his head away from the intensity of those blue green eyes staring back at him. He felt the beginning of shame rush over him and tried to push the feeling back. “I don't.” His voice trailed off. “I mean, I'm not someone who does this. I don't even --”

  
  


“Hey, no. Don't do that.” He stepped back just enough to give Phil breathing room. “No explanation necessary.” He reached down and adjusted himself with a pained little grimace and Phil noticed with some small sense of satisfaction that there was a damp spot on the front of his jeans. He hadn't come, but he'd been close.

  
  


The guy dug around in his jacket pocket and came out with a crumpled tissue he used to clean up with, flashing Phil a half smile. “And we didn't even get any on your suit.”

  
  


“Yeah. I – shit!” Phil glanced at his watch. “My meeting is in five minutes.”

  
  


“Don’t worry, this elevator is literally five feet from Stark's office.” He reached back and hit a button on the panel and for the first time Phil realized that they'd been stopped between floors. Hell, he'd been so far gone Phil'd never even noticed when he hit the stop button.

  
  


Phil hurriedly fumbled himself back into his pants, his cheeks burning. He'd almost fucked up big time, hell, maybe still had fucked up big time if he didn't manage to land the Stark account. He reached up to rebutton his suit coat and straighten his tie.

  
  


“Actually,” the guy said, reaching out and unknotting Phil's tie and pulling it loose. “Tony's not really a suit and tie guy. At least not unless he's the one wearing them.” That same leather clad hand that had gotten Phil off flicked open the top two buttons of Phil's shirt. “Leave your jacket open and the tie off. He'll like that you don't take him too seriously.”

  
  


“ What? Who?” Phil's head was spinning. Who  _ was  _ this guy? And how did he know Phil was meeting with Stark? And how did he know Stark well enough to call him Tony and know what he did and didn't like?

  
  


“ Now, it wouldn't be near as fun if I explained everything, would it?” He carefully folded Phil's tie ( _ his lucky tie and wow that had a whole new meaning now _ ) and tucked it into the pocket of his leather jacket just as the elevator dinged their arrival at the top floor. “Oh, and don't worry about your tie. I'll put it to good use as soon as I get home.” He flashed Phil a wicked smile and then bent to pick up his motorcycle helmet and Phil's portfolio.

  
  


His hand lingered over Phil's when he passed him the portfolio, giving him a little squeeze. “Odds are good I'll be seeing you around, Phil.” His other hand went to Phil's waist as he ushered him out of the elevator before stepping back inside. “Maybe next time we can try slow and steady.”

  
  


 

  
  
  


 


	2. Fast and Reckless, Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The man stepped right up to Phil, their chests almost touching. He tilted his head to the side and gave Phil a teasing little smile. “Is that right, Phil? Should we whip out our hall passes and see who has the right to be here?” He leaned in, his face close enough that Phil could see the specks of different colors in his eyes even in the darkened lobby. “What do you say? A game of you show me yours and I'll show you mine?”
> 
>  
> 
> Phil huffed out a half-laugh. He forced himself to tuck his hands behind him, pressing his palms flat against the column at his back. He needed to steady himself, to stay focused, to keep his fingers from reaching out and touching what he shouldn't touch. The guy was too close, the heat of his body almost a tangible thing. “Pretty sure we already played that game.”
> 
>  
> 
> One more step closer and a denim-covered leg pressed between Phil's legs, motorcycle helmet tossed aside as those gloved hands settled on Phil's hips. “How about a rematch then? Maybe I'll show you mine this time.” The words were whispered against his lips a moment before a mouth settled over his own.  
> ********

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check the updated tags before reading. Thanks to AdamantSteve for catching my mistakes. Hoping to wrap this up with one more chapter, to be posted next week. Also, I don't know why there are weird extra spaces in here. I think I got them all taken out but if not, sorry.
> 
> ***

Melinda rocked back in her office chair and examined Phil with narrowed eyes. “What aren't you telling me, Phil? I'm glad the meeting with Stark went well and you think we might have a chance but there's something else.” Her mouth drew into a tight line. “It can't be anything bad because you don't have that defeated shoulder slump thing going on.”

  
  


Phil shifted in the open doorway of her office, trying to be as nonchalant as possible and knowing he failed miserably by the way Melinda started tapping the fingers of one hand on her desk. It was her “enough bullshit” move. It was the morning after his meeting with Stark about the Asgard Building project and he'd already spent the better part of an hour updating Melinda.

  
  


"It was a promising meeting, Mel. That's all.” Phil took a sip of his cup of coffee and pasted a bland expression on his face. “Stark seemed to genuinely like our proposal and our commitment for preserving as much of the building's original architecture as possible. I think we may have been the only ones who didn't go in with the plan to raze it all and build something new from the foundation up.”

  
  


The meeting with Stark had lasted hours, and Phil still wasn't sure how he'd managed to make it through when his thoughts had kept drifting back to his elevator encounter. The guy had been right on with his advice, Stark had taken one look at Phil and declared him as someone who could “take the stick out of his ass on occasion” and that somehow led to a twenty minute rant on the stifling of individual expression by the fashion industry. Phil hadn't followed most of it and he'd gotten the idea from Ms. Pott's amused glances that he wasn't expected to.

  
  


Melinda was still studying him, her head cocked to one side. Other than being briefly distracted by Phil's description of Ms. Pott's - Melinda had a well-known weakness for redheads – she showed no signs of letting up on her questions.

  
  


God, it wasn't like he could just  _ tell _ her about fingerless gloves guy. It had been a complete aberration, not Phil's normal behavior at all. Even when Phil was a teenager and thought of nothing but getting laid 24/7, he hadn't been the kind of guy to hook up with a random stranger. Even if the random stranger hit every single button Phil had, including the ones Phil didn't realize he had until random stranger put his big powerful hands in their fingerless (fuck me,  _ leather _ ) gloves all over Phil. Okay, and yeah, he needed to stop thinking about it, about  _ him, _ because Phil could feel the hot flush of blood rushing to his cheeks.

  
  


Melinda's fingers stopped tapping and she sat forward in her seat so fast it nearly rolled out from under her. “Phillip J. Coulson, you got laid! Oh my god, did you fuck Tony Stark? Jesus, was the hot redheaded assistant watching? Tell me everything.”

  
  


"Yeah, boss.” Darcy chimed in from right behind him and Phil only narrowly avoided spilling coffee down his shirt. How did someone who wore that many bracelets manage to sneak up on him? “We need deets. All the deets.”

  
  


"Deets?” Phil asked. Sometimes it felt like Darcy spoke an entirely different language.

  
  


"Details, duh.” Darcy rolled her eyes. “And be quick with it, Ms. Potts just called to say Stark is on his way over. Should be here within the hour.” She made a little kissy face at him, “He must need some more of that sweet sugar you laid on him.”

  
  


Phil banged his head back against the doorframe. This was pretty much the exact opposite of his plan to keep his little stranger danger rendezvous to himself. Only knowing Darcy, if he didn't fess up she'd be quizzing Stark about their alleged tryst. He took a deep breath, drained the rest of his coffee cup and then moved aside to wave Darcy into Melinda's office.

  
  


"Well, to start with it wasn't Stark.”

  
  


**

  
  


"Mr. Stark, Ms. Potts,” Phil stood and nodded at the rather unlikely looking duo Darcy ushered into the conference room. Tony Stark was dressed in what Phil might classify as Hollywood hobo. He was wearing sweatpants and Prada loafers along with some sort of ironic tshirt and a blazer that probably cost an easy two grand. If Phil were to venture a guess, he'd say Stark hadn't yet been to bed. Ms. Potts, on the other hand, was wearing a crisp white sheath dress and stilettos that made Phil's feet ache in sympathy. “This is my partner, Melinda May.”

  
  


Stark snapped his fingers in Melinda's direction and pushed up his mirrored sunglasses to reveal eyes that were bloodshot and wild. “Melinda May, you did the renovation on the SHIELD building. Nice work, lots of clean lines but not sterile. Loved it. In fact, I was so impressed I put in an offer to buy the building but Fury wouldn't sell.” He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto the table. “I'm convinced that guy's some kind of pirate or something, or maybe straight out of the Matrix. I mean, the eyepatch, the leather duster. Who does that? Crazytown.”

  
  


Phil pointedly didn't remind Stark of his recent rant on embracing individual fashion choices or Stark's own eccentric attire. He waited until they were all settled in around the conference table before speaking. “How can we help you today, Mr. Stark? Did you have more questions about the proposal? Something we didn't cover last night?”

  
  


Stark waved his hand at Phil, “You're hired, Phil. It's all right if we call you Phil, right? You can call me Tony. Give him the thing, Pepper.”

  
  


Ms. Potts smiled and pulled a packet out of her smart little briefcase and slid it across the table. “Here you are, Phil. There are contracts in here you'll want to review, a proposed schedule and keys and alarm codes for the property.”

  
  


"I - that's great.” Phil said, stunned at Stark's decision. Usually these things took weeks, not hours. He hadn't been expecting a decision so soon. He glanced at Melinda and shared a smile, this project would be more than enough to keep them afloat for the next eighteen months. “We're delighted you like our design so much.”

  
  


“ Love, Phil. Not like. There was a lot of creativity there and an appreciation for history that a lot of people just don't get.” He slapped both palms down on the table and gave a dramatic huff. “You wouldn't believe the concepts some of the other architects pitched. The one, what was his name? Pepper, the guy with the --”

  
  


"Tony,” Pepper said. “I'm sure Phil and Ms. May don't want to hear -”

 

Melinda leaned forward in her chair and laid a hand over Pepper's, giving it a brief squeeze before pulling away. “Oh, you can call me Melinda, Pepper. I'm sure we'll be spending a lot of time together for this project. No need to let the boys be the only friendly ones.” 

 

Pepper blushed, “Of course,  _ Melinda." _

 

Phil got the idea that it wasn't often someone caught her off guard.

 

Stark gave Melinda a little smirk, “I really do like your style.” He gave her a wink and then blurted out. “Garrett! He wanted to rip everything down and put up what looked like a giant dick. Seriously, his concept looked like a big uncircumcised dick. Not that I'm opposed to dick, I'm personally very in favor of dick, particularly my own. But, I don't want to have an office in a dick.”

  
  


"If we could just,” Phil started. He'd lost control of this conversation.

  
  


"Anyway,” Stark interrupted him. “You know the neighborhood is kind of rough. We want this to be part of the big urban renewal push. My corporate headquarters for New York will stay in Stark Tower, but I want the Asgard Building to be a place where I can go and work on special projects, maybe even set up our charitable giving and job training division there. Start with Asgard Building and bring in some new industry to the area. The downside of that is that the inside of the building is in pretty bad shape. My security guy's worked to lock down access and put some safety measures in place but it's still going to be sort of an iffy situation until we get full construction going on and a round the clock guard in place.”

  
  


“ We're aware,” Phil said. “When can we expect full access? I'd like to get in as soon as possible to do some preliminary sketches of the interior.”

  
  


Pepper nudged the packet toward Phil and said, “Everything you need is in the packet. We'd like to set a meeting at the end of the week if it works with your schedule. Your architecture team, the construction foreman and the head of security.”

  
  


"Sure, we can set it all up at your convenience.” Phil said, once again surprised at how fast things were moving. “I'll have Darcy coordinate everything.”

  
  


*

  
  


Phil kept his hands shoved down into his suit coat pockets as he made the short walk from the subway stop to the Asgard Building. It was a little chilly even with the mid-afternoon sun shining brightly and he should have thought to grab his overcoat and gloves before he left the office.

  
  


Of course, he seemed to have a rather inappropriate reaction to gloves these days anyway.  He figured cold hands were a good trade off if it meant he wouldn't be navigating the city streets with a hard on.

  
  


It had been three days since his original meeting with Stark and the mutual grope session with the unknown hot guy.  That translated to two long days of Darcy singing “Love in an Elevator” a half dozen times a day and what seemed like just as many safe sex lectures from Melinda. It was all ridiculous to the extreme as far as Phil was concerned.

  
  


It wasn't like Phil was going to see him again. He didn't even know his name. And, even if the guy worked in the same building as Stark, unless Phil planned on staking out Stark's office and endlessly riding the elevator, there was virtually no chance of another run in.

  
  


Fuck it all, who was to even say the guy would be interested in Phil if they did see each other again? Yeah, Phil had gotten off rather spectacularly, but he hadn't exactly returned the favor. At least not in reality; in his post-encounter fantasies, Phil had gotten the stranger off in a multitude of ways. His favorite way involved him sinking to his knees in the elevator and pushing the guy’s dark jeans down and swallowing him down to the root. He'd thought about those rough hands in the fingerless gloves winding through his hair as the guy fucked into his mouth.

  
  


He let out a frustrated little sigh as he stopped in front of the Asgard Building.

  
  


So much for avoiding an erection out on the streets.

  
  


He fumbled the heavy old fashioned keys out of his pocket along with the little note with the alarm code. The huge building was surrounded by a tall cast iron fence with ornate scrollwork that must have been absolutely gorgeous back when the building was first built. Now most of the fence had rusted and there were several breaks that had been repaired with modern materials, no doubt a temporary security measure implemented when Stark bought it. The gate was still intact for the most part, although the original lock was busted and a gleaming stainless steel chain and commercial grade padlock held the two sides together.

  
  


Phil flipped through the keys on the key ring until he found the one labeled “gate” in neat little block letters. The new padlock snapped open easily, and Phil unstrung the chain and pushed the gate open just enough to squeeze through. He pushed the gate closed behind him but didn't bother with the chain or lock. He'd only be inside thirty minutes or so, and it was still light outside. He doubted anybody would come sniffing around looking to do damage this early in the day.

  
  


Even in early autumn, the courtyard was overgrown with shrubs and weeds that managed to worm their way between the bricks in the walkway that led to the building entrance. The double doors to the building were some sort of reinforced steel that were almost jarringly out of place with the early 1900s brick facade, probably an addition made when the neighborhood started deteriorating in the 1960s. Still, up close the lines and curves of columns and arches were impressive, even more stately than the photographs and blueprints C&M had relied on when putting together their original proposal.

  
  


There was a discreet alarm panel tucked into an alcove by the doors, and Phil consulted his notes to make sure he punched in the proper code. In addition to the alarm panel, Phil noted several shiny new security cameras, aimed both at the entryway and the gate. Stark's security guy hadn't been messing around. There was no live power to the building because of the condition of the ancient wiring, so all the security measures must have internal power sources. When the alarm blinked green, Phil unlocked the doors and went inside.

  
  


Almost all the windows in the grand entryway had been broken out and boarded over, but there was still enough sunlight streaming through the large skylights to light the way. Still, Phil dug into his messenger bag to make sure he'd remembered his flashlight before pulling out his camera and a small sketch pad.

  
  


He wandered through the empty rooms, immediately caught up in the beauty of the place. There were signs of the building's not so pleasant recent history: empty liquor bottles, piles of trash, a stray needle or two, and several spots where the smell defied description. But, underneath that Phil could see the grandeur of the early building style.

  
  


He snapped several pictures, stopping now and again to sketch design ideas as they came to him. Stark had given them free reign to supplement the initial proposal once they had unfettered access to the interior. Despite the deterioration, there were lots of things that could be re-purposed using the original materials and other things that would serve as inspiration for new pieces.

  
  


In the cool confines of the building, it was easy to lose track of time and Phil never bothered to glance at his watch even after he was forced to switch on his flashlight more and more often to make out details. The traffic noise was muffled and seemed far away and Phil let himself get caught up in his work. This was the part he loved the most about having his own firm, he could take on projects that stimulated and challenged him. He made his way methodically through the interior, figuring out how to preserve the elegance and beauty of the original building while still modernizing it and bringing it up to safety codes.

  
  


He was sitting on what appeared to be a relatively clean spot on the marble floor of the lobby, his back pressed against one of the columns as he contemplated the wide curving staircase. He was so lost in thought that it took him a moment to register the distinctive scrape of metal on stone.

  
  


Somebody was pushing open the front doors that he'd neglected to lock behind him.

  
  


Fuck, probably a junkie happy to have his old stomping grounds back.

  
  


Phil quietly got to his feet, shifting his weight forward to the balls of his feet and tucking his sketchpad and camera back into the messenger bag at his feet. Damn it all, he knew better than this. All the security measures in the world weren't worth shit if he couldn't be bothered to engage a lock or reset an alarm. He glanced down at his watch, frowning when he realized just how late it was getting. It would be completely dark outside within minutes.

  
  


He clutched the small flashlight in one hand and weighed his options before deciding it was too small to make a useful weapon. He could confront whoever it was and try to scare them off or he could stay quiet and try to slip out unnoticed whenever the person passed his position. There were enough long shadows in the rapidly darkening lobby to hide him from view if he moved carefully and quietly enough.

  
  


It had been years since his stint in the Army, but he'd kept himself in shape. His hand to hand might be a little rusty, but he knew his combat training would kick in if he needed to fight his way out.

  
  


Hopefully, it wouldn't come to that.

  
  


Phil edged around the column, trying to size up the intruder without getting spotted. The guy who stepped into the lobby looked rough and dangerous, and Phil's heart started pounding too fast for all the wrong reasons. Even in the fading light, he recognized those fingerless gloves and the motorcycle helmet dangling from thick fingers. Phil had spent the last few days trying to convince himself that he'd never see him again, but the man in the lobby was unmistakable. Same dark blond hair, and lips too pretty for that thoroughly masculine face.

  
  


The adrenaline that'd been pumping through Phil shifted into something else, desire hitting him hot and hard.

  
  


There was danger here, just not the kind he'd been expecting.

  
  


Phil tucked the flashlight into his bag and stepped fully around the column, his voice steady as he spoke. “This is private property, you know. Pretty sure you're not supposed to be here.”

  
  


The appraising look he received in response sent a shiver of anticipation up his spine. It was clear the man was expecting Phil to be here. No surprise, just something like expectation as his eyes drifted over Phil's body.

  
  


As the man moved closer, Phil saw all the details, returning the examination with his own. Jeans, the same leather jacket, a dark green henley underneath. The jacket hung open and when it shifted, Phil caught a glimpse of a shoulder holster.

  
  


He was armed.

  
  


It should have scared Phil to death, but the rush he felt wasn't from fear.

  
  


The man stepped right up to Phil, their chests almost touching. He tilted his head to the side and gave Phil a teasing little smile. “Is that right, Phil? Should we whip out our hall passes and see who has the right to be here?” He leaned in, his face close enough that Phil could see the specks of different colors in his eyes even in the darkened lobby. “What do you say? A game of you show me yours and I'll show you mine?”

  
  


Phil huffed out a half-laugh. He forced himself to tuck his hands behind him, pressing his palms flat against the column at his back. He needed to steady himself, to stay focused, to keep his fingers from reaching out and touching what he shouldn't touch. The guy was too close, the heat of his body almost a tangible thing. “Pretty sure we already played that game.”

  
  


One more step closer and a denim-covered leg pressed between Phil's legs, motorcycle helmet tossed aside as those gloved hands settled on Phil's hips. “How about a rematch then? Maybe I'll show you mine this time.” The words were whispered against his lips a moment before a mouth settled over his own.

  
  


The kiss was raw, a display of dominance that had Phil leaning back against the column for support. His lips parted of their own accord under the onslaught. Licks and nips and a bite sharp enough to make him moan, the little bit of pain an answer to an unspoken question.

  
  


The hands on his hips pulled him forward until he was straddling the hard muscled thigh, Phil's dick hard and leaking as it was pushed against the rough fabric through his thin suit pants.

  
  


It wasn't enough, the firm pressure only intensified Phil's need. He wanted more, he wanted to feel it on his bare skin. He wanted to turn himself over and inside out and give it all up until there was nothing left of himself.

  
  


There was a little frustrated whine when the kiss ended, and Phil blushed when he realized the sound came from him. His glasses were askew on his face, his breath ragged and his whole body was pushing forward, seeking as much contact as possible.

  
  


Another one of those throaty little laughs Phil remembered from the elevator, this time right against his neck. “I knew you'd be like this. So sweet for me. You need it so much. Don't you, Sweetheart?”

  
  


Phil shivered, his eyes squeezing shut as a series of open mouthed kisses traced the line of skin about his collar. The hands on his hips had moved up, sliding under his open suit coat, fingers tugging his shirt free and seeking out the bare skin underneath. It felt good, too good. Those callused fingers and the butter soft leather of the gloves teasing him, stroking along his ribs and up his chest, the slowly increasing pressure as callused fingers settled over a nipple and squeezed until the hurt became a bright shining thing. Phil's own hands were trapped behind him, caught between his back and the column. He wanted to touch and be touched, his voice strained and shaking when he said, “Please.”

  
  


"Please what?” was whispered right before teeth grazed Phil's throat, the bite coming at the moment the fingers on his nipple turned loose. The double sensation making Phil rock down against the thigh between his legs, trying to rut. His knees were weak; he was so close to the edge. Just from this. Just from  _ him. _

  
  


"You wanna get off? Want me to jerk you until you come all over my hand? I can still smell you on my glove, Phil. Last time, I went home and wrapped your tie around my dick and thought about all the things I wanted to do to you.” Each word was a tease, a taunt, a wicked caress that touched Phil just as thoroughly as the hands moving over his skin.

  
  


"Let me.” Phil forced his eyes open, made himself say the words, his cheeks burning. “I want you in my mouth.”

  
  


"Fuck!” No teasing now, one of those strong hands tightening down on Phil’s ribs hard enough to bruise.  The other came up to grasp his chin, making Phil meet his intense gaze.  “You sure you want my dick down your throat?  Because I’m not going to be gentle if I give you what you’re asking for.  I know I said we’d try slow and steady but...” his voice trailed off, his thumb pressing against Phil’s bottom lip.

  
  


Phil opened his mouth, his tongue flicking out to swirl around the thumb before he started gently sucking at the end.  At that moment, slow and steady was the last thing on his mind.

  
  


“Yeah, yeah.  That’s right, Sweetheart.”  The thumb pushed further into Phil’s mouth for a long moment, their eyes still locked together.  The man’s other hand came up to rest on Phil’s shoulder. “Let’s see what that mouth of yours can do.”  He pressed down on Phil’s shoulder and pulled his thumb away as Phil went to his knees.

  
  


The marble floor was cold and unforgiving against Phil’s knees but he couldn’t make himself care.  Couldn’t make himself care about anything but working those tight jeans open with careful fingers and tugging them down just far enough to reveal a thick cock.  It was beautiful, rigid and already dripping with precome by the time Phil got one hand around the base. He gave it one slow stroke, just leaning in when one of those hands tangled in his hair and held him still.

  
  


"I’m clean.  But, I’ll suit up if you want.”  

  
  


Phil tried to shake his head, the move aborted by the fingers sliding through his hair.  He licked his lips. “I want to taste.”

  
  


The man shuddered, his other hand joining the first on Phil’s head.  “Mouth only.  Your hands are just going to get in the way. Now open up.” The hands pulled Phil’s face forward, Phil’s mouth going wide to accept the swollen head of his dick.  

  
  


Phil had been warned that it wouldn’t be gentle, and it wasn’t. 

  
  


The hands in his hair held him steady as the man thrust forward, his wide dick sliding into Phil’s mouth in one smooth move.  Phil's own hand slid down to cup the man's heavy balls, scraping at the crinkled skin with his fingernails before obediently falling away.  Phil got just a taste of precome, bitter on his tongue and then his world was nothing but the hard cock using his mouth. Shallow thrusts that became deeper with each pull back and snap forward.  The weight of it, heavy and big enough to make Phil’s jaw ache where it stretched too wide.  The smell of musk and sweat mingled, and underneath it all, just the faintest whiff of leather.  

  
  


Phil had to fight to keep himself from gagging, to make his throat relax enough to take everything he could get.  It was nothing but the feeling of being filled, his lips bruised and battered from the rough pressure of each stroke.  His tongue sliding around every inch, pressing against the soft skin again and again.  Each snap of the man’s hips made his balls slap against Phil’s chin.  The hands in his hair were almost cruel, tugging and twisting even while Phil strained to take more and more.

  
  


“Gonna come down your throat, Sweetheart.” The man muttered, his voice hoarse and raw like he was the one with a mouth full of dick.  “You take every drop.”  One final deep thrust, far enough in that Phil’s nose pressed into the dark blond hair at the base of the man’s cock so hard that Phil struggled for breath.  Then the flood of hot come filled his mouth, Phil obediently swallowing, trying to memorize the taste, the smell.

  
  


Phil could feel his own dick leaking against his pants as he reached one hand down to cup himself.  He thrust forward against his palm just once, the friction and pressure enough to push him over the edge.  The edge of his vision went white as he pumped up against his hand, still trying to suck and lick at the softening dick in his mouth.

  
  


The hands in his hair were gentle now, fingers stroking through Phil’s hair as the man slowly pulled out.  “So good for me, Phil.  So good.”  

  
  


Phil’s eyes were closed, his breath heaving in his chest as the hands dropped away from his head.  He mourned the loss of contact in the brief instant before they were back, one on each arm, urging him to his feet. He was grateful for the support of the column at his back, wondering if his legs would hold him up.

  
  


Phil felt like something inside him had broken wide open, leaving him wrung out and unsteady.  He was only vaguely aware of the insistent beeping sound, had no idea how long it had gone on before he made himself open his eyes.  

  
  


The man was scowling as he dug a phone out of pocket of his leather jacket and Phil realized the beeps must be from a series of text messages.  He tapped out a response, cursing under his breath when he got three more beeps from the phone.

  
  


“Sorry,” the man muttered.  “I’ve gotta go.” His blue green eyes flicked over Phil, the scowl softening into a smile. “I had something else in mind, but it’s going to have to wait.”  He tucked himself back into his jeans and stepped in close to brush a kiss across Phil’s lips. “You lock up and reset the alarm, Phil.  By the time you get done, Happy will be here to pick you up and take you home.”  He ran a hand down Phil’s side, “Can’t have you wandering the streets or getting on the subway looking like that.”  

  
  


Phil nodded, leaning in to get a kiss of his own.  The man let out a frustrated moan, nipping at Phil’s bottom lip one last time.  “You don’t even know, Sweetheart.  You’re gonna love the things I’m going to do to you.”

  
  


Phil flushed, his mind spinning out several scenarios as he watched the other man retrieve his motorcycle helmet before heading out the door.  Yeah, he had some things of his own he wanted to try out.

  
  


Only.

  
  


He still didn’t even know the guy’s name.

  
  


Fuck.

  
  


And on that note, who the hell was Happy?

  
  
  
  
  
  


 


End file.
